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Monday, March 10, 2014

You've Been Weighed; You've been Measured

I've spend this pregnancy in a weird place--overwhelmed and excited to do something again we'd never thought we'd do once and simultaneously cursing the state of my body when we learned Ryan would be a big brother. It's sad, and I'm mostly ashamed to admit that I've looked in the mirror with far less wonder than I did when my belly grew the first time.

All my life, I've heard jokes about men and how they compare "members" without realizing women are far worse about measurements. We aren't just concerned about inches, but about pounds. We measure weeks and months, ounces and amounts. We measure intensity and emotion and worth and contribution. We measure cost and time and devotion. And when the sum total is in? We almost always find ourselves wanting.

All that measurement leaves little room for wonder. It suffocates grace and makes gratitude almost impossible.

It's strange to me that a year of focused gratitude would come at a time when I'm so zeroed in on measuring--as strange as last year when the word "peace" was dictated in a year of chaos. I've spouted sayings that indicate situations like this are how we learn, but I wonder why that's the case.